The storm

The grass lies still
pointed towards the sky,
until a sudden wind
picks up your hair,
blinds and robs you of your face;
sets flowers dancing
at a fast-forward paced jive.

A dog scurries on the side of the road,
a messenger of the storm to come.
His hair flaps backwards,
unable to resist the gusts.
He pauses for a moment
to tell me the news;
though I already know,
so I give him a scratch
and a inquisitive look instead.

He moves on,
crosses the road
and disappears as the wind pushes the rain further.

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